


I'll be the smoothest thing to touch your skin

by havisham



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, For America!, For Justice!, For Science!, M/M, Mild Kink, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky return from an important mission and deal with some pressing concerns. </p><p>Written for Porn Battle XIV, with the prompts: 1940s, wartime, sixteen, age gap, uniform, propaganda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll be the smoothest thing to touch your skin

**Author's Note:**

> [Bucky helping Steve into a corset is totally a thing that happened](http://scans-daily.dreamwidth.org/1843574.html). Comics, everybody!

All and all, it had been one of their more successful missions. Steve had stuffed Doctor Heidegger’s top-secret immortality formula down his stuffed bra and they had busted the spy ring working out of the Zephyrous Rose. But at what cost? Well, their dignity, perhaps. Bucky shrugged at that, and suggested that people who went out regularly dressed in their uniforms didn’t get that much of a crack at dignity. Steve cuffed him on the ear (gently), and said that the stars and stripes were _plenty_ dignified.

There was no chance to change before the debriefing, and afterwards, they squirreled away into Steve’s borrowed rooms for the night, and locked the doors behind them. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky said, as soon as the bolt slid in. Steve gave him a look that was both amused and annoyingly parental -- he forgot, always, that he was only four years older than Bucky -- and until a few months ago, not much taller or broader. 

“Help me get out of this thing, will you?” Steve made an awkward grab at the zipper behind him and Bucky was there in an instant, pulling the purple satin from Steve’s sweaty shoulders. The platinum blonde wig that had been Steve’s constant companion that night had already found its way to the floor. 

At least, Bucky said, between nervous pants of air, it was a lot easier to get Steve _out_ of his corset than it had been to put him _in_ one, earlier that evening. 

“Yeah,” Steve said sourly, patted the boot mark (Bucky’s boot mark) on the back of his white, lace bloomers. “You’re a real pal, Buck.” And then he collapsed onto the bed in a huff, the rickety frame protesting against the sudden weight on its springs. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Steve blushed. 

“I do what I can,” Bucky modestly disclaimed, after a decent pause. He got down to the business of unpeeling the silk stockings from Steve’s legs -- He whistled, impressed at the quantity and quality of the material. “How many silk stockings died to make these, you think? How many girls have you disappointed?”

“Four or five,” Steve said seriously, before catching Bucky’s smirk. “Say, you seemed pretty comfortable out there, strutting your stuff like that.” Bucky shrugged, and found a perch on the dresser. His high heels clattered to the floor like drum beats. If he could pretend that the wail of a distant siren was a saxophone playing, they could be right back at the club. 

“Actually, Captain Rogers, you’re looking at the belle of Camp LeHigh. There wasn’t any musical revue that I wasn’t a part of.” Bucky drummed his heels, still in silk stockings, against the wooden drawers of the dresser. He shot Steve a grin that was just short of feral. “I was always the girl.” 

“Huh. Well I guess that explains it. Anyway, Corporal Barnes, one good turn deserves another.” 

Steve got up, and there was a swagger in his step that made Bucky squirm with anticipation and _want_. 

It was fucking unfair how easily Steve could do this to him, to make him feel, well, sixteen and horny. Especially the times when Steve clearly had no idea how _gorgeous_ he looked -- and what an effect he had on Bucky’s peace of mind. Just to see Steve when he was training and soaked in sweat, or in combat, steely-eyed and ready for anything. Or just standing around, looking so handsome and as bright as a new penny, just waiting to be messed up a little... 

Though, it was just possible that, right now, he had _some_ idea. 

Steve kissed the skin just above the neckline of Bucky’s dress, tongue flicking out to lick the rise of his Adam’s apple. Bucky gulped, hard, as Steve made his way to his mouth, his fingers following upwards. All delicate touches, on the side of his face -- it was like Steve was afraid Bucky would break. 

Bucky rubbed his hand roughly against the silk of his thigh, kneading his cock and feeling it twitch and rise in interest. All the while Steve was kissing him like they were in some Austen novel -- hey, Bucky had spent many bored hours at the camp library -- and Bucky could hardly _stand_ it.

So he did what that girl Véronique had showed him how to do in Paris -- Bucky was a traditionalist, if he was going to learn how to French-kiss, he was damn well going to do it in France -- and slipped his tongue into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve sucked in a quick breath, his glaze wide and stunningly blue-eyed, like the sky over an open prairie (Bucky had never been), and he kissed back, his tongue doing all sorts of interesting things in Bucky’s mouth. 

It was with great reluctance that Bucky pulled away -- Steve followed him, silently protesting. 

“Hey, kissing is nice and all --” Bucky’s voice was light and more than a little breathy -- “but Cap, really, isn’t it time you blew me?” 

And Steve looked up and gave Bucky the dirtiest grin imaginable -- if they put that grin on war-bonds, Bucky thought, half-stunned, the Treasury would be fit to bursting. Steve ducked down and delicately lifted Bucky’s hemline, his blond hair disappearing into the ballooning red fabric. 

Bucky fidgeted a little, glad that he had kicked off his underwear almost as soon as he could, and pushed his stockings down so they hung bunched around his knees. He shivered a little when Steve first tongued the tip of his cock. 

Steve was by no means a great expert at giving head. Bucky could have -- showed him a thing or two about it (and he did). But what he lacked in experience, he made up for with enthusiasm. 

Bucky gripped hard at the edges of the dresser, which rattled and shook. He was shaking too, almost vibrating, with pleasure. He thanked God -- the angels -- especially Lucifer -- that someone had thoughtfully bolted the mirror to the wall, or else both he and Steve would have been showered with shards of glass by now.

Bucky sucked in a breath as Steve began to fuck his mouth against Bucky’s cock, settling an almost unbearable pace. If he didn’t slow down, Bucky was going to -- blow his top, soon, too soon, too soon! Steve’s hands, massive mitts, the size of dinner plates -- Bucky was _sure_ , yeah he was _sure_ that was an accurate comparison -- gripped hard against Bucky’s thighs. 

Bucky rolled forward, and was pushed back. He knew -- _he knew_ that silence was of the utmost importance, but he couldn’t help if his mouth was going on, with no regard to his brain at all. He cursed, he gnashed his teeth, he told Steve he loved him, and he came, _he came_ , glory, glory Hallelujah! 

Steve reappeared and got up smoothly, none the worse for anything he had done. He lifted the dress off of Bucky’s skinny shoulders -- Bucky flopped bonelessly against his chest and took a deep breath. Steve was yanking Bucky’s silk stockings off, none too gently. Bucky protested weakly. “M’gonna try to sell those. Wash ‘em out first though.” 

Steve was incredulous. “ _Jesus_ , Bucky.” He sat up down on the bed, which gave another groan. Bucky shifted over to make room for Steve, but still, it was a close fit.

“It’s _war-time_ , bub. That shit’s expensive.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Steve made a restless move to get up, and Bucky reached out and touched his arm. “Stay here.” 

Steve gave him a sweet, sad smile. “I got places to go, Buck, people to reason with.” 

Bucky pushed himself up and gave Steve a sloppy, slow kiss, sucking at Steve’s bottom lip. He fluttered his eyelashes and said, “Well, wash your face first.” Steve laughed low, and said he would. 

One by one, the lights went out, and when Steve left, it was dark and Bucky was asleep.

*** * ***

It was some years later that Bucky got a hold of a yellowing copy of Captain America Comics, with its issue number torn off. It had been raining steadily the whole day, and little streams of water coursed through the holes of his pup tent. But even in the poor evening light, he could make out something that plucked at his memory.

“Steve looked a lot better in that dress than they gave him credit for,” Bucky said aloud, to no one in particular. He needed to show this to Toro. And to everyone else. 

(Except maybe Namor.) 

He frowned at the comic version of himself, tiny and blue-suited, a regular Little Lord Fauntleroy. 

(Maybe he should just keep this to himself.)

*** * ***

“Bucky!” Captain America shouted, lifting the Cosmic Cube above his head. “ _Remember who you are!_ ”

The Winter Soldier -- who once was a boy named Bucky Barnes -- screamed and fell to his knees, and _remembered._

He remembered mostly the bad things; the terrible things he had done, and had been done to him. But there was a flicker of something besides blood and pain, something that felt as smooth as silk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, caughtinanocean, for beta-ing this ridiculous thing. 
> 
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> The title comes from the song "Gun" by Emiliana Torrini, which has almost exactly nothing to with the fic itself. It's a great song though.


End file.
